


eleven minutes

by pan_dora



Series: The One With the Steo One-Shots [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 6B AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - 6x15, Established Relationship, Kitsune Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Steo, Stiles works for the FBI, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_dora/pseuds/pan_dora
Summary: The lovely nonnie prompted me with #85 for thisprompt thingamajic.#85 - I will never apologize for saving your life, even if it costs me my own.





	eleven minutes

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely nonnie prompted me with #85 for this [prompt thingamajic](https://bellamyblakesz.tumblr.com/post/127157748980/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you). 
> 
> #85 - I will never apologize for saving your life, even if it costs me my own.

“You’re hurt.”

Stiles shoves Rafael’s hand away. That’s not a priority right now. His father is locked inside the police station with a raging mob of hunters ready to shoot on sight. His friends are in there. _Theo _is in there. If Rafael thinks he’s going to sit in this fucking van just because a hunter shot an arrow at him, he’s really fucking wrong. Nowadays, it takes more than that to take him out. Perhaps he isn’t perfect in the healing department, but an arrow in his arm is neither going to kill him nor slow him down.

He sucks in a breath, gaze directed out the window. There’s light in the distance. Floodlights illuminating the otherwise darkened station. Seventeen minutes. That’s all he has left. Stiles needs five minutes to arrive at the scene. That gives him fifteen to talk the hunters out of it or do whatever is necessary to end this madness. The last update he’s gotten from Nolan doesn’t sound great. Scott is losing it. He’s ready to give Tierney and Jiang to the hunters to end the siege without a bloodbath. It will end in one regardless. The second Scott goes through with this decision, he’s not only going to fight the hunters, but he’s also going to fight the Ito pack as well.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles pulls his gloves over his hands, curls them into fists and pulls his hood over his head.

Sixteen minutes.

Stiles gets up from the seat in the too-small van.

“You know the rules,” Rafael reminds him leaning closer to one of the surveillance TVs showing what Nolan’s camera is directed at. An office. Unused. He’s not going to be of any help as long as he’s locked in there.

“You’re not my superior.”

Rafael turns and looks at him, eyes slightly narrowed. From the very beginning of this case, he has not been particularly happy that Stiles joined the team in the first place – not as someone Rafael can boss around. Stiles is the leader of his own team, the supernatural task force of the FBI. Since this task force technically doesn’t even exist, the only people who can tell him what to do are those who fund the operation; most of those give him free-range, no rules, nothing. They tell him to get the job done at his own discretion. This is no exception. Stiles barely listened to the speech Rafael gave in the beginning. His team can do fuck all for all he cares.

Stiles is going to do something.

And he’s going to do it now.

“Stand in my way,” he says not breaking eye-contact as Rafael raises to his feet, “I’ll turn you into collateral damage.” Without waiting for a reply or a reaction, Stiles opens the doors of the van with a flick of his wrist. None of the other agents stand in his way. They don’t know what he does, but they know he’s a lot higher on the job latter than they are. Does he care what they think he did to reach it? No. He doesn’t even care what they think about him. It’s his team he has to worry about. Those he has to treat with respect. Not the other agents. The only time he sees them is when he enters or leaves the building. He’s living in motel rooms more than his flat, and he can’t wait for Theo to finally join them. He’s his home. He’s all he needs to relax in the evenings. Just two more months. The second Theo graduates, he's living with him.

Stiles will not allow a bunch of hunters to take that away.

His steps are steady when he approaches the group of hunters waiting for their prey to be served on a silver platter. His power is new and fresh and slightly unhinged. He’s using too much or not enough more often than not. But he’s angry, and he’s reckless. If he has to, he takes every single hunter out in order to keep his family save. The only thing he has to watch out for is the station. With a bit of distance, it should be perfectly fine – and he doesn’t have time to figure out a plan b. It’s all or nothing.

Gravel crunches underneath his feet when he slows to a stop. The murmuring group of hunters is to busy to notice anything or anyone around him. Stiles could end it with a snap of his fingers. Break their necks. Call it a day. It would be painfully easy. Rolling his shoulders, he pushes the instinct down and whistles.

Eleven minutes.

Every conversation stops immediately, and people start turning around. He knows most of them, has spoken to almost everyone. There’s the baker's husband. The wife of one of the deputies. The brother of one of his former classmates. _Gabe_. All those people who looked so normal. Many of them know Scott, know Lydia; they were friendly with his dad. Stiles curls his right hand into a fist.

The light flickers.

“I wanna speak to Monroe.”

There’s a sound coming from inside the station, an audible thud and a yelp. Almost as if someone banged against the front doors.

Hunters shift around and step aside muttering quietly. The woman seemingly in charge looks vaguely familiar. Her smile begs to be wiped off her face. “And you are?”

“Someone who’d like to see his friends and family go free.”

She crosses her arms. “Your name. I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

Stiles scoffs. His gloves are tight around his knuckles. The flicker of the light betrays how he really feels. Nobody pays any mind to it. Nobody but Gabe, who takes a single hesitant step back. Stiles’ locks his gaze on him when he says, “you won’t find me on your little list.”

“So, you are human, alone and unarmed, yet you think you are in any position to make demands?” Monroe asks crossing her arms over her chest. Her smile is obnoxiously smug, and she definitively doesn’t have a reason for it. After all, he’s not strictly human, he isn’t alone at all and he isn’t unarmed. Well, he doesn’t carry around weapons, but he still wouldn’t consider himself unarmed or defenceless. Not that she’s aware of that. Stiles isn’t particularly worried about a single gun trained at him. As long as he sees them coming, he can stop them from hitting their target – and it’s not like anything matters to him right now aside from saving his friends and family. He’s going to get everyone out of that station, and his patience is running very thin. That’s never a good thing in a stressful situation or when someone he cares about is in danger.

He takes a breath. “Let them go.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I only ask politely once.”

Monroe laughs. Cold. Cruel. Short. “If you try anything, we’ll shoot.”

Stiles rubs his hands together. “You do that, I’ll kill the shooter.” Or make the shooter kill themselves. He hasn’t made that decision yet. Whatever he’s in the mood for. If she’s doing anything stupid, she is going to risk her little sheep. Stiles doubts she wants that unless she’s so delusional that she’s not aware – or doesn’t care – about potential consequences. Stiles shakes out his hands. “It’s your decision, Lady.”

There’s another commotion inside the station. This time, he hears his dad yell at someone, ordering them to calm down. The stress is rising, echoing around the premise. Tension is high, not only from those stuck in the station but also those outside of it. Seems like his presence makes itself noticeable. _Good_. Nothing’s better than a little strife before causing mayhem. But his impatience doesn’t really let him keep a clear head. He’s going to do something now.

Pulling off his gloves, Stiles sighs quietly. “Have you ever heard of the saying ‘cut the head off the snake and the body will die’?” Stiles asks cracking his fingers one by one, not particularly perturbed by the guns pointed at him. If they at least _shot_ at him things would become a bit more interesting. “I wanna test that theory, how about you?” Stiles drops his gloves and raises both hands. Magic dances at his fingertips. The shadows deepen, lengthen, wrap around him like a cocoon.

The lightbulbs break, plunge them into darkness – enough for Stiles to manipulate and use to his advantage.

Someone chuckles next to his ear. “Dramatic enough?”

He smirks. “Impeccable timing, Kira.”

“If you need a thunderstorm just say the word,” she hums her katana scraping over the concrete. Hiding in the shadows he created, nobody sees her, but the noise sets the hunters on edge. They twist and turn, try to find the source, try to find Stiles.

Monroe points in his general direction. “I’m done. Sho-“

Stiles raises a hand and she chokes, reaches for the darkness at her throat in a desperate attempt to breathe again. But there’s nothing she can do. Stiles curls his hands into a fist. He could break her neck, her spine, make her heart stop, but this is so much more fun.

His shoulder throbs, reminds him of the arrow that was stuck there not too long ago. He probably shouldn’t push it, not yet. Splitting his magic up has never been an amazing idea – but he’s never been good at being reasonable when his friends and family are in immediate danger; and no matter how much he hates to admit it, this Monroe chic is a real problem. Nolan kept him up to date while Stiles was doing his research and tried to bring the Ito pack back together. Splitting them up was a very smart idea – now, she made a mistake. Everyone Stiles cares about is rounded up in the station. He doesn’t have to run around, he doesn’t have to panic, he doesn’t have to stress.

He can end this right here, right now.

And, fucking hell, he _is_ going to end it. This bitch deserves the worst for having her hunters not only shooting Theo multiple times but also for torturing him as well as Tierney and Jiang after almost killing Lori and Brett _and_ murdering Satomi. He should’ve come back immediately. He shouldn’t have been so sure that Scott would solve this problem immediately seeing that it’s not the first time they had to deal with brainwashed hunters. Not everyone is like Chris Argent who’s ready to accept that not every single supernatural creature is a monster.

He could’ve stopped Satomi’s death if he had come back earlier. That’s on him. He won’t be able to undo his mistake; he won’t be able to make up for his naivety. The least he can do his avenge her.

Gabe drops his crossbow, tries to help his leader somehow while the other hunters point their guns in every single direction, trying to find their target.

“How about a bit of atmosphere,” he asks wrapping the shadows tighter around them just in case the hunters decided to risk shooting despite not seeing them. “Let’s crank the dramatics up to a hundred.” He tightens his grip around Monroe’s throat for a faction, feels the prickle of magic close behind him as Kira raises her hands in the air.

The wind picks up easy and fast and surprisingly strong. No warning. No build-up. The storm doesn’t arrive, it crashes down on them. It whips around them, tears at his clothes. Clouds complete the darkness which is only interrupted by occasional lightning strikes. Thunder rumbles over their heads; intense enough that the ground shakes underneath their feet. It takes all but a few seconds for the first lightning strike to hit the ground.

Now panic sets in.

The first gun goes off.

Someone calls his name.

Stiles raises his left hand, raises the shield of darkness with it. He isn’t going to risk anyone getting shot, no matter how much it strains him.

Another shot.

And another.

Stiles can feel his strength fading fast. Using defensive and offensive magic at the same time is much more draining than leaning on just one; especially with bullets hammering against the shield like a finger tapping against his skull. He should’ve expected the body to continue twitching for a while.

“Kira.”

“I got you.”

He can feel the electrical charge pass him, mix with the darkness in front of them. The storm lessens significantly but not enough to calm the frenzied hunters.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles twists his wrist and releases his grip on Monroe. She collapses instantly. Gabe jumps away with an open mouth, his yelp impossible to hear over the commotion coming from the gunshots and thunderstorm.

Stiles gathers the darkness once more, pulls it back towards him. He takes a deep breath, grapples for a better hold and then releases everything all at once. His aim is off, which is nothing too surprising, but it works in his benefit regardless. The concrete cracks under his feet. Pieces of the parking lot turn into missiles. The noise of the gunfire is replaced by shrieks and cries of pain. There’s a crashing sound, and Stiles has the terrible hunch that one of the windows just broke. He winces. So much for keeping the station intact. Well, he tried. The storm doesn’t make it easy to see either.

The electrical charge vanishes and Stiles lets go of the darkness. The sudden release knocks his legs from under him. He crouches down, muscles and ones a mess of rubber and jelly. He takes a deep breath and presses his hands to the ground. His wound is throbbing worse, and he can feel fresh blood drenching his hoodie. _Fuck_. He definitively needs to learn how to heal as soon as he can. His offensive magic won’t be any good if he’s bleeding out on the floor.

Light flickers back on.

“You’re getting better,” Kira tells him placing a hand on his shoulder, “all you need is a bit more control about the amount of power you use.” Her tone sounds a bit too amused for his liking, but Stiles can understand why. The parking lot consists of cracks and potholes. Three windows are broken, and there are four bodies on the floor including Monroe, two move, however, so that’s good.

The door opens with a quiet creak. Scott pokes his head out, gaze dropping to Monroe’s crumpled form on the ground; her head bent backwards at an impossible angle. His lips curl into a tight line. Stiles doesn’t need him to say anything to know exactly what he’s thinking right now.

Gabe groans quietly and he sits up holding his head. Blood sticks to his cheek. Well, a headache is far better than death.

“Theo!”

“Hey-“ Scott is shoved forward, almost losing his footing as Theo rushes out the door, eyes narrowed.

Stiles gets to his feet only seconds before Theo grabs him by the collar of his shirt and crashes their mouths together. In an instant, Stiles cups his neck, steps closer, unable to stop the satisfied moan forming in the back of his throat when he tastes the anger on Theo’s tongue. He shouldn’t enjoy this; of course, he should at the very least have the tinge of a guilty conscience, but he cannot be arsed. Not even a little bit. Theo tastes too good and he’s alive and he’s pressing against him and-

Someone clears their throat.

Loud.

Stiles blinks his eyes open only to find his father glaring at them with crossed arms. _Whoops_.

“Goodnight!” Stiles watches Kira slip into her motel room before unlocking his own with a yawn. He wouldn’t have minded keeping her around a while longer because Theo’s clenched jaw doesn’t exactly scream cuddles and intimacy although that’s what Stiles really would love right now. His mind is muddled, his muscles tired and all he wants is lie down in Theo’s arms, hold him close and dread the moment he has to leave again. Fighting with Theo is the last thing he wants. They see each other not more than once a month if they’re lucky.

He doesn’t want to waste it with fighting.

Tossing his bag in a corner, Stiles collapses onto a bed. “Please, don’t-“

“Don’t _what_?” Theo asks in a low growl.

“Be angry.”

“You’re _hurt._” Theo kicks off his shoes and shoots him a look. _Of course_. It’s a surprise he hasn’t said anything earlier. Well, or maybe not. He probably didn’t want to upset Stiles’ dad. “We had things under control. There was no need for you to come here.”

“You were _tortured_. Satomi was killed. Brett and Lori almost died-“ Stiles runs his hands through his hair, feels dust and dirt and exhaustion clinging to his skin, his bones, his mind. “What was I supposed to do? Stay away?” Like that was even an option in the first place. He'd never stay away when something's going down in Beacon Hills, even his bosses let him go without a second thought. His team is highly trained. They can consult with him via a phone call. But he’s _not_ staying away when the people he loves are in danger, and Theo should know that.

Shaking his head, Theo throws his jacket across the room. “You put yourself in unnecessary danger-"

“Unnecessary?” Stiles jumps to his feet, reaches for Theo’s shoulder and spins him around. “You are _not _unnecessary; do you hear me? Neither is my dad or Lydia-" The movement sends hot pain through his shoulder and down his arm. It’s not the worst thing he’s suffered through, it’s not the first time he’s been hurt in this exact place.

Theo cups his cheeks, pulls him close and presses their foreheads together. His hands are warm. The air tastes like despair. “I cannot lose you,” he whispers barely loud enough to be audible over Stiles' heart banging against his ribs. “You’re everything I have.” Those words never fail to cut deep for the simple reasons that Stiles will never be able to reciprocate his feelings the same way. There are other people he cares about, other people he loves. Theo will never be the only one.

But he loves him.

He wants to be with him.

And he’s not letting anybody take Theo away from him, even if that means he has to do something drastic. “I won’t apologise for running home to help,” Stiles whispers nudging his nose against Theo’s. “I will never apologise for saving your life-“ he swallows around the lump in his throat, wraps his arms tightly around Theo’s waist to keep him close “- even if it costs me my own.” He’s never going to decide against Theo. He’s never going to turn away from helping him, no matter what price he has to pay.

“I don’t want that.”

“I don’t care.” Stiles brushes their lips together, feels the hands cupping his cheeks slip away, find their place on his lower back. _There_. That’s better. The anger starts to fade. The air tastes cleaner – and Theo kisses him. Hard. Stiles curls his fingers into the short strands on instinct, pulls him close, refuses to let him move anywhere but towards him. Theo follows like he always does, claims like he always does, growls low and almost frustrated in the back of his throat like he always does.

Theo walks them to the bed, hooks his fingers underneath Stiles' hoodie. They part for a second, Stiles laughs quietly as Theo pulls his hoodie off first, then fumbles with his belt and pants until Stiles can step out of them. His eyes lock find the wound, and he scowls. “We need to clean that,” he says running his hand up and down his arm. A bit of anger spiked in the air. Stiles wonders when he asks whose fault it is. But he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around Stiles, he presses a kiss to his forehead. "I should get into the habit of carrying a first-aid kit around."

"As if I'm going to let a butcher like you stitch me up." 

The attempt at a joke falls flat. Theo lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. “I would pay you to stop risking your life.”

Stiles closes his eyes, snuggles against him and huffs. “For you, I’ll always come running.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me over on [tumblr](https://msmischief101.tumblr.com/) or the [steo discord server](https://discord.gg/P2GBy4).


End file.
